


I found solace (in the strangest place)

by BrilliantlyHorrid



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: "Flash" fic, Daisy on the Run, F/M, Failed espionage, Phil Coulson is a hot mess, Post Season 3, Probably too long to count as that, UST, Undercover Daisy Johnson, alcohol use, season 4 speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-05-24
Packaged: 2018-06-10 08:28:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6947749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BrilliantlyHorrid/pseuds/BrilliantlyHorrid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“As if you haven’t done it before.”<br/>“I haven’t,” Phil told her, and Daisy scoffed. “That’s not a thing everyone just does, this isn’t a--a movie or something.” Was he talking too loud? He couldn’t tell. His ears were ringing a bit, either from the impact or the fact that he was suddenly accosted by Daisy Johnson out of the blue after eight months and dragged back half-blinded by pain to his own hotel room/home.<br/>Daisy and Phil are trained spies. But they're both kind of a mess right now.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I found solace (in the strangest place)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Skyepilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/gifts).



> Happy birthday Skyepilot!!  
> (This is not the last I'll be writing about this subject, haha.)
> 
> Title from "Alive" by Sia.

“What the hell was that?” Coulson hissed, holding his sleeve to his nose then checking to see if there was blood. There was.

“Sorry, I was trying to kiss you,” Daisy said. Coulson looked at her like she had lost her mind.

“Why would you do that?!”

She stared at him, eyes wide. Like _he_ was the unreasonable one here. “You know, that whole diversion thing? Covering your face so they can’t see you, then you get away,” she said defensively, checking if her own nose was bleeding. It wasn’t. “As if you haven’t done it before.” She sat down on the edge of the bed, taking a breather. Her outfit was ridiculous. Not that she looked ridiculous out of context, but it was just not her. The blonde wig wasn’t helping matters. It was freaking him out a bit, to be honest.  

“I haven’t,” Phil told her, and Daisy scoffed. “That’s not a thing everyone just does, this isn’t a--a movie or something.” Was he talking too loud? He couldn’t tell. His ears were ringing a bit, either from the impact or the fact that he was suddenly accosted by Daisy Johnson out of the blue after eight months and dragged back half-blinded by pain to his own hotel room/home. _Or..._

There were some other reasons. 

If he didn’t know better, Coulson would think Daisy was turning red. “Well, you’re always three steps ahead of everyone else, so I guess I thought you could roll with it,” she muttered.

_Oh you’ve been gone a long time, haven’t you?_

“My reaction time is a little off,” he said, sitting at the rolling desk chair. It tilted back _just_ far enough to startle him slightly.

Daisy narrowed her eyes. “You’re drunk,” she realized, and Phil wondered if maybe she needed a little refresher on how to be an agent. If it took her that long to notice.

_Or maybe she just expected you to look like garbage._

_“_ Yes well, you did grab me while I was walking _out of a bar_ ,” Coulson said, grabbing a tissue from the desk and pressing it to his still-bleeding nose.

Daisy was frowning at him. He wished she wouldn’t do that.

“I’m off the clock,” he explained, but that only seemed to bother her further.

“Since when is there a clock?”

Phil shrugged. “Since the ATCU decided they needed a system in place to limit my hours,” he said, taking a strange pleasure in seeing the surprise on her face. “Yeah, Talbot is _this_ close to paying me to _not_ come in,” he chuckled, then felt embarrassed about how drunk he sounded. He probably smelled like a distillery too.

And he hadn’t shaved in...well, he’d lost count of the days.

“So you’ve been taking on a lot of hours,” Daisy guessed, a funny look on her face.

“It’s less about how many hours I’m working than how I’m spending them,” Phil said, hoping in vain she _hadn’t_ noticed the multiple cork boards covered in leads and clues and articles and _string,_ what was the string meant to do? Did it help? He couldn’t remember. “They’re under the impression that, if I did track you down, I wouldn’t go through the ‘ _proper channels,'"_  he said, using finger quotes like a petulant teenager.

“Would you?”

Phil snorted unattractively. It hurt his nose, and he winced.

“You all seem to be under the impression that I could track you down at all,” he said, not bitter but _slightly_ bitter.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Daisy asked, raising an eyebrow. Phil laughed.

“No, no, you tracked _me_ down,” he said, standing up and moving to the bathroom. Holding one of the washcloths under the tap, he soaked it with cold water. “We both know that the second you leave, _poof._ ” He shut off the tap and wrung out the towel. “I’ll be back at square one.” Phil walked back toward his chair but Daisy grabbed his arm.

“Here, sit here,” she said, directing him to sit next to her on the bed. Taking the towel from his hand, she held his head still with one hand and pressed the cloth lightly to his nose with the other. It felt awful and _amazing,_ and Phil sighed.

Opening his eyes--he hadn’t realized he’d closed them--Coulson saw _the look_ on her face. “ _Stop_ ,” he said, lifting up his hand and pressing on the wrinkled part of her forehead with his finger. How drunk was he? _A lot to very._

“How drunk are you?” Daisy asked, and Phil was relieved to see some amusement on her face.

“I’m fine,” he lied, and she nodded like she knew it was a lie, but was going to let him have this one. She still looked worried though. "This isn't...this is just tonight," he explained. "This is 'bad day,' not 'state of being.'" She nodded, clearly relieved. Sure, he could take better care of himself, but he wasn't normally this bad. Of course she caught him tonight of all nights.

Maybe it wasn't coincidence. Maybe she remembered what day it was too.

Phil eyed her hair critically, then moved his hand up, trying to push the wig off of her head. Daisy sputtered, pulling away from him.

“Okay, _what_ are you doing?” She asked, trying not to laugh.

“Take this off." He took some of the long blonde strands between his fingers. “Please,” Phil amended. He just wanted to see her. He didn't mean to be pushy. 

Daisy rolled her eyes good-naturedly, putting the bloodied cloth back in his hand--had his nose stopped bleeding? He thought so-- and standing up. “Okay well, there are _pins_ holding this thing on so unless you want to pull my real hair off too--” she began, but Phil shook his head.

He didn’t want to do that.

Daisy moved to the mirror, gradually removing pins from under the wig until she could take it off completely. Standing up, Phil walked up behind her and combed through her hair with his fingers, trying not to snag them. Was it shorter? Longer? It had been so long since he’d seen her.

“You look beautiful,” he said, watching fascinated as her hair slipped through his fingers. She let him, not saying anything. Maybe out of pity. “I look like shit.”

Daisy made some kind of noise then, wrapping her fingers around his wrist. “Stop,” she said quietly, “just stop.” She wrapped her arms around his waist, pulling him in close. Her head was resting under his chin, and he could feel how the roots of her hair were damp with sweat from being under the wig all day.

“I won’t ask you to come back, can’t right now anyway,” he told her, feeling her fingers grip the back of his shirt. More wrinkles. He liked that those ones would be from her though. 

“But I will,” Daisy said, muffled against his shoulder. She cleared her throat, stepping back a bit. “Soon. Maybe. But it’ll happen. Even if it’s just…” she trailed off, staring at some spot on his shirt. He worried maybe she noticed a stain or something, but there wasn’t one there. “I’ll see _you_ again soon. Is that okay?”

She couldn’t come _back_ , but she would visit with him? Again? When he was sober and showered and shaved and wearing clean clothes?

Now he had a reason to _do_ all those things. 

“Please,” he asked, not caring that he sounded desperate. She knew he was desperate by now, look at him. There was no point in attempting to hide it.

Daisy nodded, smoothing out his shirt over his shoulders (in vain; it had been slept in too many nights to retain any semblance of how it was supposed to look.) She struggled with meeting his eyes then, a wobbly smile on her face. “I’m sorry you’re-- I had no idea you’d--”

_Take it this hard?_

He always knew. You’d think it would have prepared him for this moment.

“Everything will be fine,” he said, believing those words for the first time in months.


End file.
